She Can Run (32 page)

Beth nodded.

“Please don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back. “

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

“I can’t believe it was that easy.” Beth felt like all the air had been let out of her lungs. Sitting next to her on the small couch in the study, Jack placed a hand on her knee and squeezed.

“I don’t know if
easy
is the word I’d use.” Jack’s obscenely expensive lawyer, Carlyle Hughes, picked a dog hair off his navy blue pinstripe suit and dropped it on the carpet. “When I met with him this morning, Congressman Baker adamantly denied your accusations. He claims to be devastated by the divorce request but has no desire to force you to remain married to him. Mind you, he didn’t look all that devastated, but it was only the two of us. Had there been a camera in the room, I’ve no doubt the congressman could have looked as broken up as he deemed necessary.” Carlyle steepled his manicured fingers. A gold Harvard Law School ring winked, and the light glinted off hair the color of polished silver.

Beth was amazed at the security money could buy, like the high-powered attorney sitting across from her. Carlyle had been old friends with Danny O’Malley. If it hadn’t been for the personal referral, Beth would have thought of him as an old shark, predatory and cold.

She summoned a smile. If Beth wanted to fight fire with fire, she needed Carlyle Hughes. Since Wes and Sean had been unable to unearth any dirt on Richard, she had only two options: to remain in hiding or confront her husband. She hadn’t taken Sean’s offer to “remove” the threat seriously.

“Still. It doesn’t feel right.” This was good news, so why did she feel so vulnerable? “I didn’t expect him to give up this easily.”

“Well, he didn’t just agree. There are conditions,” Carlyle said.

Next to her, Jack tensed. “What kind of conditions?” He rose and crossed to the credenza. “Can I interest you in a scotch, Carlyle?”

“It’s a bit early, but if it’s the thirty-year-old Macallan Danny stocked, then I can’t resist.”

Jack flipped two tumblers then hesitated. The bottle hovered. His mouth tightened as he poured two fingers of amber liquid into only one glass and handed it to the lawyer.

Carlyle sipped. “Excellent.” He set the glass on the end table and opened his portfolio. “Here’s the deal. If the congressman agrees to the divorce, withdraws his claim of Mrs. Baker’s mental instability, and removes his petition for guardianship of her children, he expects a signed liability waiver and confidentiality agreement. No appearances on
Oprah
. No memoirs on her married life. No Lifetime Network TV movie. Not a peep to anyone. Ever. And Mrs. Baker must agree to relate a plausible story to the press that will enhance the congressman’s political image.”

“He wants to put a positive spin on this? Unbelievable.” Jack began to pace the small room, but Beth noticed, despite his anxiety, he did not head back to the credenza.

In the leather wing chair, Carlyle crossed his legs. “Really, Jack, Mrs. Baker—”

Beth interrupted. “Please don’t call me that. Beth will do.”

“I think Mrs…. er…Beth should strongly consider the offer. She has no evidence from the time in question, while the congressman has medical reports and testimonies from numerous top-of-their-field doctors. She spent a week in a psychiatric ward after a documented overdose. Baker called an ambulance and arranged private care in one of the best medical facilities on the East Coast. Outwardly, it appears as if he’s done everything humanly possible for his wife. Filing charges against the congressman under these circumstances would be unwise. He’s fully prepared to pursue guardianship of your children. No judge or jury is going to believe the congressman orchestrated the entire event.”

“It’s the truth.” Beth’s stomach turned over. She was going to have to choose between recovering her life and restoring her reputation, the latter of which could place her children in jeopardy. Not acceptable. Nothing was worth even the possibility of Richard getting custody of her kids.

A brief flicker of desolation passed over Carlyle’s face. “The truth is only relevant if you can prove it.”

And wasn’t that a sad fact of life?

Unwilling to accept the limited choices, Beth’s mind whirled. “But what about all those physical and psychological evaluations last week? Don’t tell me I went through all that for nothing.” Although Quinn had set her up with a matronly internist with the bedside manner of a grandmother, letting Dr. Miller poke and prod her had been the very last thing she wanted to do. Wait. Check that. Letting the psychiatrist in on her own private hell had been far worse.

Carlyle gave her a wry smile. “Those reports are the only reason you got an offer this good, believe me. At this point I believe the congressman simply wants to control the impact on his career. He’s been playing the devoted spouse a long time. His constituents would turn on him in a second if they thought they’d been lied to. Baker sees himself in the White House someday.”

Beth couldn’t imagine being free. What would it be like not to constantly look over her shoulder? To sign her kids up for school and join the PTA? Did it really matter what other people thought? She glanced over at Jack. His lips tightened in a thin line as he waited for her decision. She knew he’d support her no matter what she chose to do. The hell with it. Her image wasn’t that important. Jack’s opinion was the only one that mattered. “If he’ll leave us alone, I’ll sign whatever he wants.”

“That extreme won’t be necessary. Baker may control the legal arena, but we still have media exposure on our side.
Oprah, Jerry Springer, The View
. Any one of those producers would sell his soul to the devil to expose the congressman. If he isn’t reasonable, you don’t sign the confidentiality agreement.” Carlyle rose, smoothed his trousers, and tugged on his French cuffs. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle everything.”

Beth didn’t trust her voice. She nodded.

Beth followed as Jack walked the lawyer to the door. “Thanks, Carlyle.”

“You and Beth have nothing to worry about.”

God, was it true? It didn’t seem possible that it was over.

Jack closed the door. Draping an arm over her shoulder, he led her to the kitchen. “Everything’s going to be OK.”

It sure seemed that way, but Beth’s stomach wouldn’t settle. She supposed it was going to take some time to adjust to
not
being a fugitive.

She filled the teakettle and turned on the gas burner. “Tea?”

Jack sighed. “Sure.”

Her heart swelled. She knew he’d much rather have a scotch, and that she was the reason he wasn’t indulging. The house was quiet. Mrs. Harris was playing bingo at the Methodist Church, and the children were in bed.

As she pulled two mugs and the box of chamomile tea from the cabinet, Jack stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Leaning back against his hard chest, she absorbed his body heat. His heartbeat pulsed through her body.

“Beth, have I told you I—” The ringing of the phone interrupted him.

Jack reached for the cordless and squinted at the Caller ID display. He frowned. “It’s the police chief.” He stabbed the talk button with his finger. “Hey, Mike.” Jack’s eyes opened wide as he listened for a minute. His eyes lit up with interest. “No shit?”

A few minutes later, he returned the receiver to its stand. “Mike’s arrested Will Martin for Mary Ann’s murder.”

“Really?”

Jack nodded. They were both silent as the sadness of the waitress’s death hung between them.

The teakettle whistled, and Beth poured water into one of the mugs.

“He wants some advice.” Energy vibrated from Jack.

“The police chief needs your help.” She smiled. “You’d better go.”

“Are you sure?” His feet were already pointing toward the door as he asked.

“Positive. The situation with Richard is settled. The Riverside Killer’s been arrested. I’m going to drink my tea, watch something mindless on TV, and try to put all of this out of my head for a while.” She didn’t believe that was possible, but she’d felt Jack’s pride surge at the police chief’s request. He needed to go.

“OK.” He leaned down to kiss her. “Lock the door and set the alarm after I leave.”

She nodded. Outside the French door, Jack leaned on his cane and waited until she’d secured the house. Though the danger had passed, they were all going to be paranoid for a long while.

Jack hadn’t been gone for more than a half hour when Beth returned to the kitchen. She rinsed her mug and placed it in the dishwasher, glancing out the French door to the brightly lit lawn beyond.

“Oh, no.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

Four horses grazed in the back yard, which was lit up like a football stadium with the new security lights. They must have broken the gate or a fence board. Not an unusual occurrence for big animals, but she was too tired to deal with their antics tonight.

Too bad no one else was home.

She scribbled a note and left it on the counter in case anyone came looking for her. Grabbing Henry’s little-used leash, she listened for the sound of his dog tags but heard nothing. Henry had gone to bed with Katie. Obviously it would take more than a few horses on the lawn to disturb him.

With a sigh, Beth reset the alarm, stepped out the door, and locked it behind her before walking across the thick grass. She passed under the massive oak tree in the center of the yard. Above her head, branches swayed in the cool, wet breeze that promised rain. In the gunmetal gray sky, patchy clouds drifted in front of a nearly full moon.

Using the leash, she trekked the three geldings back to the pasture one by one. As she’d expected, the latch on the gate was broken. She looped her belt around the posts to hold it closed. Lucy was limping, and Beth led her directly to the barn. She passed through the bright circle cast by the barn’s new overhead light, opened the heavy sliding doors, and led the mare into the building, flicking on the light switch in the aisle as she passed.

The empty stable smelled of hay and dust. Something to her left rustled in the straw. Beth paused mid-stride and made a mental note to visit the pound for a couple of big tomcats as soon as possible. Rats could get out of hand in a flash.

“Now, Lucy. What did you do to yourself?” Standing in the bright aisle, she focused her attention upon the horse’s leg. Blood ran down the bronze foreleg from a stitch-worthy cut above the knee, which must have happened when the mare busted through the gate. Beth put Lucy on the crossties and went into the tack room for the first-aid kit. She punched the vet’s number into the new phone on the wall while gathering the necessary first-aid items in a clean bucket. Dr. White’s machine picked up. Beth left a detailed message. The vet would show up as soon as he could. In the meantime, she’d clean and bandage the wound.

She stepped back out into the aisle, bucket loaded with gauze pads, soap, and a leg wrap. An arm snaked out from the next stall, wrapping around her neck and jerking her backwards into the dark. The bucket clattered to the floor.

A scream rose in her throat, but the pressure from the viselike grip strangled the sound. She twisted, but another arm circled her shoulders, arching her backward and pinning her arms to her chest. Her lungs screamed from lack of oxygen as she kicked ineffectually against her attacker’s shins.

With both hands she grabbed at the thick arm encircling her neck and pulled down. She managed to relieve enough pressure to suck in a lung full of air. She threw her head backward. A grunt sounded in her ear as she connected with his chin, but his grip remained strong.

He shifted. The arm fell away from her shoulders. Before she could break free, something sharp pricked her cheek. Hot blood trickled along the side of her face. Beth froze.

“Stop it, bitch! It’s not what I had planned, but I’ll cut your throat right here.” Even in whispered tones, she knew that cold voice. Richard pressed his lips to her ear. “Why didn’t you just run when my men cut through your ladder or ran you off the road? God, you’re a pain in the ass.”

Hatred and anger thickened his speech, but his grip loosened slightly as he spoke, allowing her to gulp the moist air greedily. Beth’s eyes darted around the dark stall, looking for some weapon, anything she could use to get away from him, but the stall was empty. Lucy moved restlessly in the aisle, tossing her head, jangling the metal clips on the ends of the ropes that connected her to the walls.

“There’s no such thing as an acceptable divorce for a politician, no matter how my PR people spin it. Being a widower, however, will send my popularity ratings through the roof. Poor me, dedicated to my mentally ill wife, devastated when her dead body washes up somewhere. I’m practically a saint already.” His hot breath burned her neck. “You promised to stay with me until death do us part. Guess which one of us is going to die?”

Richard loosened his grip around her waist, spun her around, and shoved her. Her back and head struck the wall. Pain lanced through her head. Nausea rose in her throat, and her vision blurred.

The noise startled the horse. Beth heard her bolt, breaking the crossties. Hoofbeats passed the stall door, then faded.

Three feet away, Richard waved the knife. Beth’s heart pounded against her ribs like a trapped wild animal. She sidestepped toward the doorway. If she could just put some distance between them, she could draw her gun from its ankle holster. This close, she’d never get it out fast enough. In her pocket the pepper spray Jack insisted she carry pressed against her hip. It was her only chance.

The cold gleam on the blade reflected the evil glint in his flat blue eyes. He stabbed the knife at her face in a taunting arc. She blocked its thrust with her arm instinctively, barely feeling the blade slice through the skin. Warm blood ran down her forearm. He jabbed at her belly, and again she blocked the knife’s path with her arm. Blood dripped from her fingertips into the straw.

Beth steadied herself, balancing on the balls of her feet and ignoring the pain, as he lunged forward again. She stepped aside, drew the pepper spray from her pocket, and sprayed it at his face. He was in motion, so she missed at first, but the tail end of the arcing liquid hit its mark. He threw a hand over his eyes, blinded by the tears pouring down his face.